


shape of you

by CloudCover (RainyForecast)



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Meet-Cute, Pens Captain!Geno, not a hockey player!Sid, the lethality of hot dudes in pajama pants
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-07
Updated: 2017-06-07
Packaged: 2018-11-10 04:08:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11119605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RainyForecast/pseuds/CloudCover
Summary: Now, Geno spends all of his time around hockey players and the women who gravitate to hockey players. He’s seen some fantastic asses in his time. His own, too, is a source of pride. Geno perhaps considered himself an expert in aesthetically pleasing backsides.He was wrong.Much contribution frombicroftandehghtyseven, the best bits were their ideas.





	shape of you

Geno feels like shit. The ice packs the trainers sent him back to the hotel with have gone warm. They’re going to take ages to refreeze in the tiny freezer of his mini fridge; and in the meantime, he’d like to maybe sleep, at some point. Their flight tomorrow is at ass’o’clock in the morning. He can’t wait to be back home. This entire road trip has been hellish, with tonight’s game the worst of all.

He tosses the ice packs aside with a curse and heads out to the ice machine. It’ll be far from the first time he’s jury-rigged an ice pack with the flimsy ice bucket liner. He could probably call the front desk, but hockey star or no, he feels kinda shitty making people run around doing stuff that he can do himself. Quickly and easily and without talking to other humans: his ideal mode of operation after a hard loss.

Thankfully their floor is quiet. Most of the guys are either quietly decompressing in their rooms or out trying to party their woes away. Thankfully they hadn’t tried to drag their captain along. Heaven knows he loves a night out, but, just, not now.

When he turns the hallway corner by the ice machine area, however, he stops short. There’s someone dithering in front of the vending machines. The first thing he notices is the loudly patterned pajama pants. Nothing but the Pens logo, over and over.

And then.

Now, Geno spends all of his time around hockey players and the women who gravitate to hockey players. He’s seen some _fantastic_ asses in his time. His own, too, is a source of pride. Geno perhaps considered himself an expert in aesthetically pleasing backsides.

He was wrong.

The ass blessing those pajama pants is the most glorious thing he’s ever seen.

And then his eyes move up, [past a sweet dip into a solid looking waist](http://oi64.tinypic.com/13z7hwh.jpg), then is almost surprised at the broad shoulders stretching the thin T-shirt the person is wearing. Very broad,  very heavy shoulders. _Damn_.

Now Geno would typically never approach a fan like this. That way lies headaches for Pens PR, and NDAs, and possibly restraining orders. But.

FUCK.

He clears his throat. “Nice pants.”

And Angel Ass turns around. The first thing Geno sees is that the faded, too-small sleep shirt he’s wearing has Geno’s own name and likeness on it. Geno grins, suddenly giddy.

“ I’m like shirt better though,” he says. Angel Ass makes a strangled noise, and then Geno tears his gaze from his own silhouette stretched across perfect pecs and meets his eyes. Angel Ass’s face is white, and he looks partly like he can’t believe what's happening and partly like he wants to sink through the floor and die. Geno, on the other hand, thinks he might be the one hallucinating. Angel Ass has stunning hazel eyes and a mouth that’s pure _sin_. Messy black curls and cheekbones Geno’s seen before on supermodels.  All the hopes and  plans he has of trying to be funny, or clever, or maybe even communicating in English evaporate. Hell, he’s not even sure of his Russian at the moment.

“You guys were staying in _this_ hotel?” Angel Ass squeaks out. Pale shock leaves his face as his cheeks flood crimson. Then, softly: “oh fuck _me_.”

A fantastic idea, Geno thinks wildly. “What’s your name? Can I buy you drink?” He manages. “At bar, downstairs. You tell me where you buy pants. I’m want some too I think.” The pants, he sees, that are pooling over Angel Ass’s bare feet in a way that’s really cute and oddly vulnerable.

“Sid,” Sid says, glancing down shyly. “And, uh, for sure.” He looks up quickly, horrified. “Oh God, not in these clothes though. Holy shit.”

Geno laughs delightedly. “Everybody will say I am most…what’s word?” He snaps his fingers, annoyed that the word doesn’t come.

The corner of Sid’s mouth twitches up a little. Oh, he’s so lovely. “Egotistical? Self-absorbed?”

“Yes!” Geno grins.”I’m best, but have to pretend I’m not know.” He mimes a face of exaggerated false modestly, and Sid giggles. There’s nothing else to call it. It sounds like if a waterbird could giggle. Geno is hopelessly charmed. “Meet you here? Five minutes. I’m wait.” Sid nods, blushing even more, then books it down the hall. Geno manages not to gape after him as he goes. It takes supreme effort and Geno is righteously proud of himself.

* * *

It takes Sid most of the way through two beers to really relax. By that point, Geno’s got him talking hockey, and Sid is actually astonishingly perceptive. Geno’s swinging wildly between  being really fucking turned on by his knowledge and intensity and just kinda melting like a sap at how cute Sid is.

Geno’s got his chin propped in one hand, unable to take his eyes off of Sid as he expounds on the issues with the Pens’ second powerplay unit. He’s still flushed, from the beer and his passion for hockey now instead of embarrassment. Geno is grateful none of his teammates are in the bar, because the face he’s probably making at Sid would likely be a fineable offence. But Geno can’t help it.

Sid’s started in on a particularly technical explanation involving both of their glasses,  a couple of beer mats, and three peanuts filched from the dish on the bar. One of which Geno steals and eats in a bid to try and look less moony and besotted. Sid frowns at him.

“You just…ate Kris Letang.”

“Not enough salt to be Tanger. Too boring, is probably Phil,” Geno retorts, and Sidney laughs, expression warm. Geno acts on impulse and lays his hand over Sid’s on the table between them.

“You give me number? See you again when we back in Columbus?” Geno’s throat feels tight. He can’t lose Sid right after meeting him like this.

Sid’s eyes are shining, and he turns his hand under Geno’s to lace their fingers together. “Uh, actually? I’m on a business trip. I’m usually based in Pittsburgh.” Geno almost can’t believe it. He feels like he did when he was drafted. Like what’s happening right now is too good to be real.

“You go to games? Wear jersey? Wear _my_ jersey?” Geno asks, voice low. Sid stares at him, pupils blown wide.

Then, blandly, the little shit: “Of course not. Fleury’s more important than you any day.” Geno throws back his head and laughs.

“I’m buy you,” he tells Sid. “Buy you all of my jersey.” Which doesn’t make that much sense, but, whatever. He’s not really talking about buying Sid clothes. The subtext is: he wants Sid to be his. Heaven knows he already feels like Sid’s, even after a scant two hours in his presence.

Sid raises his chin. “Yeah?” His expression says he knows exactly what Geno’s not saying. “I’ll hold you to that, eh?”

Geno has to, he just does. After a quick scan of the room to make sure nobody’s paying attention, he leans over and brushes his lips just barely to the side of Sid’s mouth. When Sid blinks at him, he shrugs. “I’m Russian. Emotional guy. Sometimes we just kissing people.” Sid looks at him for a long moment, then reaches in his pocket, tosses something on the table, and abruptly gets up. Geno rises to beg him to come back, or to apologize, but then he sees what Sid threw down. It’s…a room key.

Geno has to sit down for a moment, clutching the key to his heart. The loss is a distant memory. His bruises and aches don’t even register. He, Evgeni Vladimirovich Malkin, is the luckiest motherfucker on the planet.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Cut to Geno lying in bed staring at the ceiling, Sid asleep on his chest, wondering how soon is too soon to ask someone to marry you. Fun fact: he manages to control himself for an entire year of dating but did keep a ring in his sock drawer from their two-month anniversary onwards. And then he loves his husband for a thousand reasons, only one of which is his Perfect Ass. The End.
> 
> This was a Tumblr fic and is un-beta'd. 
> 
> Title is from Ed Sheeran's Shape of You, because I couldn't resist.
> 
> Heavily inspired by this tweet  and bicrofts commentary of: "'[I'd] probably be too scared to leave my room just in case i like. ran into sidney crosby while i was in my pajamas or something"
> 
> You can find me as [creaturesofnarrative ](http://creaturesofnarrative.tumblr.com/) (main) and [knifeshoeoreofight](http://knifeshoeoreofight.tumblr.com/) (hockey blog) on Tumblr, and as @RainyForecast on Twitter. Come say hi and cry with me about how hockey both real and fictional has eaten our lives.


End file.
